


Ostalgie

by ZaliaChimera



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1990s, Alcohol, Angst, Berlin Wall, Cold War, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mindfuck, Politics, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-21
Updated: 2011-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-17 04:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After another day of the most boring work that Germany could possibly find him, Prussia indulges in a fit of nostalgia and finds himself heading East and treading on dangerous ground</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ostalgie

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Ostalgie  
> Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Pairing/Characters: Russia/Prussia, Germany  
> Warnings: Sex
> 
> Notes: Ostalgie is a term referring to nostalgia for aspects of life in East Germany.
> 
> The outtake is something that I wrote but it was too ridiculous to actually use in the story XD

If he didn't get out of the office soon then he was going to go quite mad.

Prussia dropped the pen and groaned, burying his face in his hands. It drew a disapproving look from Germany's secretary, not that Prussia gave a damn when he'd heard her muttering about the damn Ossies to others when she thought he wasn't within hearing distance.

He wondered idly if he could knock himself unconscious if he hit his head hard enough against the desk. It would definitely be better than actually reading the stack of papers that Germany had given him about transportation logistics. He knew that most Nations probably considered him only a short nudge from insanity at the best of times, but transportation logistics. Seriously? He swore that West had deliberately given him the most boring crap that he could find. Was it any wonder that he thought he was going crazy?

What the fuck did he know about this crap anyway? Sure, he knew how to move and supply an army and, and how to cut off an enemy's movements or interrupt their supply lines, but that was a far cry from building roads and considering traffic calming methods!

He couldn't take any more of this. He stood up sharply and grabbed his coat, slinging it about his shoulders. Fuck this.

The secretary gave him a murderous look as he headed towards the door. "Mr Beilschmidt, your brother sai-"

"Tell West that I'll see him at home," he said, cutting her off quickly. "I'm out of here."

He made sure to slam the door on his way out.

\---------

"Brother?"

Prussia sighed when he heard the familiar voice, moving into a sitting position from where he'd been sprawled on the couch. Damn it, he hadn't even had a beer yet. Surely he didn't warrant Germany actually coming home on time for once.

"Brother!" came the call once more, sharper this time. Prussia could hear the note of irritation in it. Better to respond now than wait for Germany to get more upset. Even he could only deal with so much.

"Oy, West! I'm here."

There were footsteps and then Germany stepped into the lounge. He looked displeased and was trying to hide it, his lips set into a tight line, and a cold look in his eyes. He'd already stripped out of his coat and jacket, leaving him in just his shirt and a neatly knotted tie.

"You left," he said, and there was no reproach in his voice. No, it was all in the eyes.

"Obviously."

Germany's expression darkened. "You didn't finished what I asked you to do. You were supposed to be working."

"Prussia shrugged, meeting Germany's gaze squarely. "I worked. I came home. It isn't like I took your car to get back. Caught the bus."

He could almost see the effort that it took Germany not to start barking at him like he did the other Nations. There was that little twitch around his left eye. "You cannot just leave work when it suits you, brother. It's a job, not a hobby."

He sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth. Probably was. For his part, Prussia forced himself not to roll his eyes. He did, however, slouch indolently down on the couch. "It is when it's just whatever crap you could pull together to keep me occupied. It's busywork, face it West."

"A job is a job," Germany replied, and Prussia's eyes lingered on the way the muscles in his jaw tensed. "Would you really rather spend your days in idleness? Losing every ounce of discipline that you once possessed?"

He sounded... fuck, he sounded disappointed, like Prussia had let him down by not finishing some pointless paperwork. If he was trying to guilt trip him though, Prussia wasn't having any of it. He gave a derisive snort and turned away from his brother. "I'd rather be doing something useful. A real job."

Germany blinked, looking a little baffled. It would have been cute if Prussia hadn't wanted quite so much to punch him right then. "It is a real job," Germany insisted, "it is useful. You are helping to run our country."

"Your country," Prussia said quietly, lips twisting into a harsh line. It wasn't something that they'd ever spoken about, they'd just agreed silently that it was a taboo subject.

"Wh- Brother!" Germany began to protest. Prussia didn't give him the chance.

"It's nothing I do because I'm good at it, Germany," he said, ignoring the wince from his brother at the use of his proper name. "It's just to keep me out of the way, make it look like I have any relevance in your united country."

There was a pause and then Germany drew himself up to his full height. Prussia would swear that he was taller now than he had been when the wall came down. It was petty, but it made Prussia angry. Once he had been the power and his brother just a fledgling state, sickly and confused. Now look at them.

"I've never kept you from finding something for yourself, brother, but you never do."

"Most places won't hire an East German with no skills except fighting, and you won't let me near the army."

Germany blanched, looking away from him awkwardly. "You know that I can't have you involved with the military. I cannot be involved with the military either. They agreement..."

"You're still bowing to America after all these years," Prussia said, a little surprised by the bitterness in his own voice. No, he let America dictate what happened to Prussia even after the wall fell, and it stung more than he cared to admit. It had been one of the requirements of reunification, that he not be permitted involvement with the military.

There was a flash of bright anger in Germany's eyes for a moment and it sent a thrill through Prussia to see such an emotion in his brother's eyes, although it was damped down all too quickly. "Would you rather still be bending over for Russia, Deutsche Demokratische Republik?" He said it so calmly, so flatly, and Prussia would have much preferred to hear cruelty there. At least then he could have put the sentiment down purely to anger.

Prussia's gaze hardened, lips drawn back into something that was more snarl than smile. "At least then I was doing something worthwhile, not just the dregs that you give me to keep me out of the way West."

"It isn't like that brother!" Germany protested, but it was too late now wasn't it? "I just hate to see you wasting yourself as you have been."

"Then stop treating me like something you're ashamed of!"

"I'm not ashamed, but..." Germany looked so guilty, refusing to meet Prussia's eyes, and it made Prussia feel like a dick for putting such an expression on his brother's face, or it would have if he wasn't so pissed off.

"But unification hasn't been as perfect as you expected," Prussia muttered sourly.

Germany blinked and looked more uncomfortable than Prussia had seen him in years. "Yes," he said finally. "I think that is it."

There was silence for several moments and then Prussia pushed himself to his feet. Air, he needed air and life and people. Germany looked at him doubtfully, reminding Prussia of the lost child that Prussia had first taken under his wing. He ignored the feeling. "Brother?"

"I'm going out," Prussia said, brushing past him and already heading for the door.

"Where?"

Prussia shrugged. "Just out East somewhere."

"With your people," Germany said quietly.

"They're yours now West. I'm obsolete, remember?" The words were accompanied by a morbid smile, before Prussia opened the door and stepped outside, closing it firmly behind himself.

Germany stared after him for a moment, the closed door seeming to mock him. "It doesn't feel like it brother," he murmured.

\----------

"You are here again, Prussia."

Kaliningrad was not what had once been the DDR, was certainly not the 'East' that Prussia had blithely mention to his brother, and yet he kept finding himself there. Perhaps it was just some lingering connection to Königsberg that had once been. That was what he told himself at least, when the tug came. he didn't like to think about it too much or too often.

He paused, hand on the door of the bar, and turned slightly, taking in Russia's smiling face. he'd taken to capitalism well, Prussia noted with some bitterness. The suit Russia was wearing was obviously some fine designer brand, the shoes too. It made Prussia feel somewhat inadequate in his jeans and t-shirt and worn jacket.

"So what if I am?" Prussia replied.

The laugh made him shiver. "This is Russia," Russia said, gesturing at the surroundings, as though Prussia couldn't damn well tell that already. "You have no reason to come here, not any more." His expression never changed with the words and Prussia couldn't tell if they were meant as a taunt or if Russia was just stating facts in that painfully blunt way of his.

"I just want a drink," Prussia said sourly. Maybe another bar would be a better bet. He turned away and started walking only for a strong arm to be slung around his shoulder, a near strangling weight.

"We can drink together then, since you have come so far. It is only fair, yes?"

He should have been making his excuses and leaving right then because Russia was mad and Prussia was German now, not just East. He should have been showing that, but there was that little shard of himself, the part that cracked back in '47, that broke when the wall went up, that thought in sickles and stars...

He grinned morbidly and clapped Russia on the back. "S'long as you're paying. You're the one wearing the fancy suit." It wasn't fair, not when Prussia could barely afford to fill the tank when he borrowed West's car, but when had things ever been fair?

\----------

"D'you miss it?" It was his sixth or seventh beer on an empty stomach which probably explained why his tongue was loosening as the night went on. Later he'd doubtless regret letting this happen, and around Russia of all people.

"Mm?" Russia gave him one of those looks, the one where he cocked his head to the side like a bird that couldn't decide whether you were food or not.

Prussia blinked at him, gathering the tangled threads of his thoughts. "You know," he said, "Communism, the ex-union of countries who are totally independent states now. And capitalist," he added as an afterthought, just to rub it in.

Russia smiled but he always smiled so it was hard to tell what he meant by it. "Like you?" he said sweetly, smiling over the rim of his glass. "Living with your brother while he tries to mould you into a good little province?" He leaned in and Prussia could clearly see the eerie colour of his eyes. "Are you a good brother, Prussia?"

Prussia drew himself up to his full height, meeting Russia's gaze squarely and giving a cocky grin. "Course I am. Only the best and most awesome brother the world has seen."

Russia advanced, just a step, but he made it feel akin to advancing a mile across a battlefield. "Oh? And a good brother allows himself to be subsumed, yes? That is very... noble of you."

Prussia's smile twisted, the beer glass in his hand cracking as his grip tightened. "Better than becoming one with you. I'm not dead and gone yet."

"Obviously not," Russia said, and Prussia could feel his breath against his cheek, too damn close for comfort. "And yet you are here, keep coming here. it is strange."

He shrugged, trying to look as dismissive as he wished he felt. "Stops West coming after me. He can be a damn busybody when he wants to be. I blame specs... Austria."

It made something triumphant spark in Russia's eyes. "So I am once more a shield against the west, yes?" He gave that creepy laugh and fixed Prussia with a piercing gaze that belied the amount of vodka that he'd drunk. "Do you miss it?" A mocking echo of Prussia's earlier question.

A harsh bark of laughter escaped Prussia's lips. "What? Being spied on by my government on the orders of my comrade?" He practically spa the word. "Waiting for you and America to eally go at it and knowing that I'd be the first against the wall when that happened?" The military he had liked. Being a pawn he had not. "Watching my people flee across the border to my... my brother." And that was what stung the most; knowing that in the end, they had chosen West over him, had chosen unification over a free state, and thus Prussia, as anything significant, had been relegated to the history books.

His expression hardened and he didn't even flinch when Russia's gloved hand touched his cheek. He just regarded him flatly.

There was a stretched silence and Russia was so close that Prussia could feel breath against his lips. "I miss it," Russia said finally, once the tautness had become too much. "Not all of it and not all the time, but as I miss the bright colours of the Tsardom, the parties and elegance. The ideal of it, that it what I miss."

That was... that was it, wasn't it? Prussia exhaled slowly, like a broken kiss against Russia's lips. The idea of it. He had been no more free under Russia than he was under Germany, no more glorious. He had been watched and hurt and as desperate for West as some of his people, but oh, the grand ideas! "Yes," he quietly agreed, "the ideals."

Russia's face lit up, a childish happiness at being understood and Prussia should have been surprised when their lips brushed, but he was not. His lips parted and Russia breathed into him, a steady beat of exhale, inhale, and the delicate flick of a tongue against his own. It would have seemed shy, but the hands holding his shoulders were too confident, the kiss too bold, and Russia's expression far too knowing.

They parted finally, both seeming satisfied by some internal agreement. Prussia licked his lips and Russia smiled, cheeks flushed and eyes half lidded. His grip on Prussia's shoulder tightened enough for the sharp flash of pain to spark through Prussia, and Russia's voice, when he spoke, was more thickly accented and husky. "We should find a better place, yes, comrade?" The word dripped slowly from his lips and Prussia stifled a low primal noise, nodding his assent.

"Yeah, we should."

He had expected a lavish house, a gilded bastion against the encroach of Europe, but the dingy hotel was more than adequate for their needs. He hung back as Russia spoke to the girl on reception and paid in crisp banknotes, then followed him upstairs. One rough double bed and bleak lighting, but it was clean at least, with a bathroom attached.

Prussia's back connected hard with the wall as soon as he stepped inside, Russia's weight bearing him back as lips met and teeth clicked together in a kiss which lacked any sort of romance. A savage kiss, each demanding and taking until there was no breath left to steal and they broke away, panting harshly.

Their eyes met for a moment and then Prussia leaned back indolently, popping the buttons on his shirt. "This what you want, comrade?" he sneered. "Want us all against the wall so you can fuck us against it?" Harsh words, but the heat in Russia's eyes told him that it was the right thing to say.

The slap turned his head, left his cheek stinging and Prussia's tasted blood and loved it. Russia leaned close and stopped the protesting words on Prussia's lips by biting down hard on the bottom on, tugging and making the blood flow thicker in Prussia's mouth. It left a smear on Russia's lips when he released his grip, like obscene red lipstick. "You should keep those lips shut, comrade," he said smoothly, catching Prussia's chin between his fingers and rubbing his thumb against swollen lips. "The walls have ears, yes? It would be unfortunate if they should overhear such words."

"Threats," Prussia spat.

"Truths," Russia whispered against the shell of his ear and Prussia thrilled as large hands clasped around his wrists, holding him firm against the wall.

"Same difference."

That enigmatic smile, and Prussia hissed as Russia's grip tightened, the though of bruises making heat pool low in his belly. "Truth is subjective."

"Most people just call that lying," was Prussia's growled response. He pushed at Russia's grip, testing it; it was strong and tight but it would break if needed, and that was all the reassurance that he needed to continue.

"Most people do not realise what is good for them." Russia pressed up against him and ground their hips together. Prussia groaned low in his throat, and that was the difference wasn't it? Didn't have to bite it down this time. Hell, he wanted Russia to hear it, and the way he rocked their hips together was a pretty good indication that Russia liked it. "If people just let me tell them what is truth, it would not be an issue."

Prussia bared his teeth, twisted his hips just so to get a hiss from Russia. "So just blindly follow you and no-one gets hurt yeah? Pretty crappy truth."

He grunted as one hand closed around his throat, forcing his head back, and it felt like brand and collar all at once. Every flex of Russia's fingers made him shiver. "And when," Russia asked darkly, "have you ever been a crusader for truth, Prussia?" The hand tightened, squeezing until each breath cost Prussia a little more energy to draw. He grabbed Russia's wrist with his free hand, dug his nails into the fleshy part of it, feeling bones shift. It was sickly satisfying.

Russia just laughed, high and bright, loosening his fingers just enough to let Prussia breathe normally. There was an extra warmth in the laugh, or maybe Prussia was just hearing things. He felt weirdly like he'd passed some kind of test. "The eagle still has claws," Russia said, almost sounding proud, but that couldn't be.

"Always," Prussia hissed, crimson eyes narrowed, feeling that familiar fierceness burn for a moment. How long had it been since he'd felt that pride?

Russia's thumb delicately traced the line of his jaw, and then all gentleness and imagined care was gone and Russia's knee roughly pressed between his legs, forcing them apart. "Should I decide what is good for you, comrade?" Russia asked with a wicked smile.

"Fuck off!" Prussia snarled in response, and the jerk of his hips against Russia's screamed 'yes'.

Russia tugged him sharply off balance and spun him around quickly, pressing him up against the rough wall. "You will understand," he said, "we are comrades. You will scream it like you would my name."

"In your dreams," was the response. Prussia pressed back as the zip of his jeans (American Levi's and one of the first things he'd bought when the wall came down) was pulled down. He could feel Russia's cock, hard and ready against his backside and the little groan from the other nation made Prussia grin, glancing over his shoulder.

Retaliation, and there was always retaliation, came with cold air against his dick followed by a warm hand which smeared pre-come across the tip. Prussia groaned and felt Russia smile against the back of his neck. "You are already hard, comrade. Perhaps you do not resist the truth as much as your mouth would have me believe."

"Perhaps you're talking so much because you can't get it up. Soviet propaganda leave you cold?"

Russia's laughter brushed against his neck, his hand fondling Prussia's balls with a possessive air. "You will sing so sweetly for me," Russia said, as though Prussia had never spoken.

Prussia growled, eyes flashing dangerously. He had never taken well to being ignored, even in games like this one. He hooked an ankle around Russia's leg and tugged him closer insistently. "If you're ah-" a squeeze to his balls dragged the breath right out of his lungs, but he continued as doggedly as ever, "trying to prove your philosophy, you shoul- ngh - get on with it!" Fucking Russia and his fucking balls of titanium! Most nations would have submitted long ago when faced with Prussia's flawless figure.

"You are in a hurry to join me, I understand," Russia said brightly, and Prussia had to stifle the urge to punch him as his thumb circled the head of Prussia's cock lightly. "I suppose that it would be needlessly cruel to make you wait."

Russia's fingers slid beneath his underwear and tugged them roughly down to his ankles. once he was exposed, Russia grasped his cock again, squeezing and stroking until Prussia squirmed. He snarled, pressing back against Russia's body insistently. They bother wanted this, he heard the little half-aborted noise that Russia made, so why was Russia dragging this out?

Russia's hand rested lightly against the small of Prussia's back, thumb smoothing against the swell of one vertebrae. "Did you bring what is needed?"

"I told you," Prussia growled, trying to rub up against Russia's body to get some of the god-damned friction he so craved, "I just came for a drink. Wasn't expecting to be playing satellite state again."

"Ah..." Russia said, and Prussia could hear the frown in his voice. He groaned in frustration and, though he would never admit it, felt a flash of irritation at the thought that Russia might have been there for some other reason, and Prussia had just been a convenient distraction. His pride wouldn't allow him to consider it.

Russia palmed his cock again, driving the thought from his mind. The other hand rested on Prussia's hip, fingers drifting over the curve of Prussia's ass and the firm muscles of his thigh. "Mmm," Russia hummed thoughtfully, and he did this thing with his thumb and the tip of Prussia's cock that made Prussia groan low. "Press your legs together," Russia ordered sharply, and he didn't wait for a response, but pressed against either side of Prussia's legs, forcing them tight together. Prussia allowed him, getting an idea of what was wanted. Wasn't his preferred method, but miles better than stopping now when he was hard and drunk and just wanted to fuck already!

There was a slick sound and then wet fingers pressed between his thighs. Saliva, Prussia realised, and it wasn't ideal, but it was Russia who's cock would be chafing so Prussia didn't give a damn, just reached back to grab Russia's hip, dragging him roughly forward and then grinding his arse back against Russia's groin.

It dragged a strained sound from Russia's mouth, which mutated into a growl as the blunt head of his cock pressed insistently against Prussia's thigh, rubbing against the crack of his ass. "Good," Russia grunted, bucking forward, "very good." Prussia groaned low as the tip of Russia's cock brushed against his balls.

It was a good feeling, Prussia decided, having Russia of all nations rutting against him, hard and horny. Those large hands (calloused and warm, he'd never understand how they could be so warm) wrapped around his dick with brilliant white-hot pressure. All for him, Prussia thought greedily, just him, not politics or agendas or ideologies.

The sound of flesh against flesh became a hypnotic rhythm, mingled with harsh breath and groans, until Prussia couldn't tell which were his and which were Russia's. He rocked shamelessly against Russia's hand, feeling every callous rough and perfect on his dick, a thumb pad sliding over the tip. There was rough friction between his legs and he squeezed, relishing the startled grunt from Russia which trailed off into a low noise of pleasure. It was rare to see Russia unwound and open and honest like this.

The hand stroking him sped up. Russia leaned closer, his weight bearing Prussia forward until his chest rubbed up against rough plaster, the cold seeping through his shirt and into his skin. He turned his head to rest his burning cheek against it. From the corner of his eye, he could see Russia his expression of mingled concentration and desire chipped at the edges to reveal the inhumanity of the emotion.

"Scream for me," Russia murmured, lips pressed against his ear. "Scream, comrade."

The grip around his cock tightened and Prussia felt heat and tightness coil inside him. Russia kept touching him, rubbing and stroking until sensation overwhelmed him and he came hard, a howl dragged from his lips, fingers digging into the plaster hard enough to leave marks. "Comrade!" he screamed as he came, spilling over Russia's fingers, "Comrade..." and it seemed enough to tip Russia over the edge, feeling the large body tense against him, taut muscle hard against his back and the hot pant of Russia's breath against his shoulder.

They rested there for several moments until Russia's weight against him became uncomfortable and he could feel the cool sliminess of come on his thighs, sliding down and ugh, he was going to have to get back into those jeans and West would see and...

The touch to his cheek made him start, breaking him from his tangled thoughts. He turned to meet Russia's gaze. It was as inscrutable as ever, but his fingers lingered. "You are thinking too much," Russia murmured, thumb sliding down the length of Prussia's jaw.

"You can't just order me to stop thinking," Prussia replied harshly to hide his discomfort. "Not any more at least."

That earned him a wan smile and Russia pulled away, twisting his hand into the damn scarf that he was still wearing instead. Russia stooped to pick up his suit pants which had pooled around his ankles, then paused, grimacing at the state of himself. He kicked them off instead, retrieving a pack of cigarettes and matches from the pocked. He turned away to light up, then offered the pack to Prussia.

Prussia tapped one out, a dark unfiltered Russian blend, and placed it between his lips. Russia leaned forward with a match and cupped his hand around the cigarette as he lit it. Prussia pulled away quickly, uncomfortable with such intimacy, and took a long drag, his eyes closing blissfully. He could hear Russia moving. He was surprisingly quiet. And then after a few moments, Prussia felt something warm pressed between his legs. he opened one eye to see Russia crouched in front of him, wiping him clean with a soaked towel which dripped puddles across the wooden floor. It was more care than he'd anticipated, although to be fair, he'd been mostly expecting to be kicked out of the room after they'd fucked.

Russia must have caught the flicked of confusion in his gaze; he gave a lopsided smile, a strange expression to see on him. "I do not like to be dirty," he said, finishing the task gently until Prussia was clean of the worst of the mess. he'd need a shower later, but at least he wasn't going to be feeling it for the rest of the night.

While Russia headed back to the bathroom, Prussia grabbed his jeans, examining them quickly. They hadn't escaped unscathed. Wouldn't have been too bad if he'd had a long coat, but he didn't and even then, with his hair and eyes and permanently pale skin, he'd probably have looked like a member of some disaffected youth subculture and that was just adding insult to injury.

"I have the room until morning." Russia was standing in the bathroom doorway, almost a silhouette against the fluorescent light. "Your jeans need washing." The way that he spoke made the two sentences sound completely disconnected, but maybe Prussia had become good at reading between he lines of Russia's speech, or maybe he was just hearing what he wanted to hear, but he grinned around the cigarette and took it exactly the way he wanted anyway.

"Sounds good. I can wait until West is out to go back." He'd disappeared for days on end before. West wouldn't worry. He'd just rant when Prussia returned about how he should have called and did he know what an inconvenience he was?

Russia blinked and then wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I forget that you are his basement tenant these days. It is unbecoming."

Back to this then. If Prussia was honest with himself, he was surprised that the sort-of-truce has lasted even this long. "Like it was any different in your house," Prussia replied with a sneer. He moved to grab the discarded towel and used it to try to wipe away the worst of the stains from his pants.

Russia crossed over to him, wrapping arms around him from behind and leaning his chin against Prussia's shoulder. He could feel the heat of the cigarette close to his skin. It was uncomfortable and Prussia paused in his actions, straightening up, body tense.

"You had your own house still," Russia whispered against his ear.

"Painted in your colours and your damn missiles in my backyard," Prussia replied coldly, finding Russia's body against him less than pleasurable now that the afterglow had faded, more a weight set to drag him down.

"I do not see the Prussian eagle flying in Berlin. I do not see a place for your 'Ossies' on the map. Just Germany. Just your brother."

Prussia's eyes narrowed. "It's Germany. That's enough." The country so hard built and unified and so what if it was his brother's now, rather than his? So what if the bitterness sometimes threatened to overwhelm him? It was only natural.

Russia's hand slid down his arm and closed around Prussia's wrist. "And yet you are here."

"I just came for a drink." And he didn't pull away because he was fine, not even worried about the fact that he was in this room with Russia and Russia was still a strong nation while he was... was...

"There are bars in Berlin," Russia said, sounding genuinely curious. There was a lilt to his voice, like a little boy seeing how well ants burned beneath a magnifying glass.

"Bars in Moscow too," Prussia said, giving a sharp silver smile.

"But this is not your place. It is mine."

"It used to be mine."

Russia pulled away and grabbed Prussia's shoulders, turning him around. "Is that why you come here?" he asked. "Nostalgia? Or..." He paused, eyes narrowing. "More than nostalgia?"

"Nothing so noble," Prussia snarled, and it was his turn to pull away, tearing away from Russia's grip, breath coming sharp for a moment. "Not one of 'em comes to this forsaken place. Like I want to run into West or specs or any of 'em."

"I am here," Russia said mildly.

"Why'd you think no-one wants to come here," Prussia said cruelly.

If the barb hurt then Russia gave no sign of it. "Then it is me that you come for, comrade?"

"Don't call me that," Prussia snapped. "We're not playing games any more."

"Who says that I am playing?"

Prussia's blood ran cold at the words and despite himself, he backed away a step, wondering if he could pull on his jeans before Russia made a grab for him. But Russia let him go, and that was the only thing which kept Prussia leaving right there and then. "Don't call me that," he repeated. "I'm not your underling or your satellite state."

Russia shrugged and stubbed out his cigarette against the wall. He took his time before replying and he was doing it on purpose, Prussia knew, another twisted power-game because he knew that Prussia couldn't just leave before hearing his response.

"I wonder," Russia began finally, just as Prussia's annoyance was about to overwhelm his curiosity, "if I offered you a place where you could have your own name and autonomy, would you take it?"

Prussia froze, a fine tremble running through his body and he could feel Russia's gaze against his back like a physical touch. His mouth was dry and he hated the effect that those words had on him, the way they tore at the edges of the gaping hole where once had been people and territory. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, trying to force down the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he wasn't certain was revulsion or anticipation.

"Don't promise things you can't deliver," he said, hating the tremble that ran through his voice.

"Oh?" Russia said, his footstep ominous behind Prussia. He didn't turn around. "What if I gave you this place? Your once city, to fly your flag above."

Prussia swallowed thickly and he could almost see it; the black eagle and white field flying over the towers of Königsberg once more. A people to call his own except... He shook his head, glanced back over his shoulder and smirked at Russia, trying to shake off the feeling. "And still under you."

"It is more than you have now. More than your brother gives you when he will not even acknowledge that Prussia was ever something he was not ashamed of."

"He isn't ashamed of me." It sounded hollow to his own ears when he could remember Germany turning away from him and his too often in the recent past.

"Oh?" Russia said calmly, "I am sure that I am wrong, but one cannot help but see things. You buried your old king recently..." He let the sentence trail off.

Prussia tensed. There had been protests that day, people objecting to the Prussian king being honoured and yet... he shook his head, giving a soft snort that wasn't quite a laugh. "They came to see him," he said quietly. "They came to see him in their thousands, hour after hour. And some of them objected, and some of them were wrong so wrong with what they thought, but they came! They came for me!" Not just his, the East Germans, but West's too and he remembered the thrill of seeing it.

He smelt the acrid tang of cigarette smoke as Russia lit up again. "It's history," Prussia said quietly, barely more than a whisper. He knew that Russia would hear him. "It's language and customs and it's mine, even if West is there now, I still built it."

Russia didn't respond for a long moment but Prussia could hear him breathing as he took a drag of the cigarette.

"You are still so confident. It is... admirable."

Prussia smirked. "I survived being dissolved. I survived that fucking wall." He wasn't dead yet and what more could they throw at him?

"And now you are consigned to paperwork. A fitting end."

"If you're trying to seduce me then you're doing a piss poor job of it."

A slow smile crossed Russia's face. "I do not need to seduce, not when you come here so willingly time and time again. Perhaps you should stop pretending it is otherwise.” He went over to perch on the edge of the bed, regarding Prussia with some amusement. "That is a truth I offer, yes?"

There was silence for a moment and then Prussia growled in frustration, the dregs of his triumphant feelings being dashed away with those words. He pulled his jeans on quickly, grimacing at the dampness of them, the obvious wet patch on the front and pulled open the door.

"I have the room until morning," Russia said smoothly.

"Not interested."

"Then why are you still here? You said you only came for a drink. It's been hours."

"Do you really believe that I'd accept anything more from you?" Prussia snapped. "You have no idea how fucking wonderfully drunk I got when the Union collapsed. Me and Wests and all the rest of them."

"You're still stalling. You're still here instead of with your brother. Should I tell him that you've decided to change your name. I can think of one. Kalini-"

Prussia practically bolted before he could finish the word, slamming the door behind himself. It was cold outside without the buzz of alcohol to warm him, but his headlong dash for Berlin, for home did that job, leaving him drenched in cold sweat.

Fuck. Fuck.

West was still awake when he got back despite the late hour, hunched over a stack of paperwork, squinting through his reading glasses. He looked old, much older than Prussia had ever looked and for a moment, Prussia hated him for it.

"Brother?" he asked, giving Prussia a tired look which took in every detail of his appearance; the wet stain and mussed hair and swollen lip. He sighed, sounded disappointed. "You can take tomorrow off work," he said with great reluctance.

Prussia kicked off his boots and shook his head. "Don't need it," he snarled, ignoring the surprised look from Germany. Something to distract him, that's what he needed, even fucking transportational logistics. Something to bind him there despite the uncomfortable feeling which still lingered in his gut.

He didn't sleep that night.

**Author's Note:**

> "You are in a hurry to join me? I understand," Russia said brightly, and Prussia had to restrain the urge to punch him. "It would be nedlessly cruel to make you wait to experience my hammer of Communism."
> 
> Prussia froze at that, glancing over his shoulder and giving Russia an incredulous look. "The hell was that?"
> 
> Russia blinked back innocently enough that Prussia was almost certain it was genuine. "Ah, it is, as they say, a euphemism, yes? It was not good?"
> 
> "L-lets just stick to calling it your cock," Prussia sighed, the mood thoroughly shattered.
> 
> "Very well, comrade," Russia said, and just before Prussia turned back, he thought he caught a hint of a smirk on Russia's lips, and fuck he'd been played hadn't he? He let his forehead hit the wall with a quiet thunk.


End file.
